


carry the weight of me in your heart

by WashiEaglewings



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: F/M, Gen, I had a LOT of feels about the KH2.8 trailer today and fic happened, KH2.8 spoilers, also you can't sell me on there being NO underarm hair, mensturation mention, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 00:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7144451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WashiEaglewings/pseuds/WashiEaglewings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: five times Aqua hallucinated her friends in the Realm of Darkness, and the one time she didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	carry the weight of me in your heart

**Author's Note:**

> I was already planning a fic dump for ALL MY FEELS for the 2.8 trailer before coming across _[this post](http://kingdomheartsnyctophiliac.tumblr.com/post/145611564770/kingdomheartsnyctophiliac-ive-been-doing-it)_. Then this happened.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @ awakingdormancy.

Aqua hears their voices first.

And it’s fine, at first. When she still can keep track of her heartbeats for a rudimentary time-keeping system, when she is confident that the sky will show more change than an inky black to a false splatter of stars on a smoky blue canvas, she even delights in them. Her wayfinder is a comfortable weight and heat against her thigh and she fingers it often, constantly making sure she keeps it in her sights. When she thinks of Ven's laugh and Terra's half-hearted insults, she brushes her thumb against the stained glass and smiles.

Then she starts seeing them and hearing other things. It isn't as funny after that.

They’re there in her sleep, in the click-clack of her heeled boots on the stone pathways, in each thrust of Master Keeper—she hears them even in the rare moments of peace where it’s just her breathing. Not all at once, and never at the same time. It’s like they cycle in and out of her head, dancing just out of her reach. And she sees them in her reflection in the water during seconds-long bath times. From the corner of her eye Aqua will see a wisp of blond hair, hear a low-throated chuckle. They're faint enough, fast enough, for her to chalk it all up to her imagination.

The line blurs. Aqua travels still deeper into the darkness. 

* * *

She’s tried to keep track of time. Nothing so rhythmic as the feeling of her heart pounding in her chest—in chaos her heart races faster and faster, disrupts her counting. She spent a long time trying to carve marks on rocks that she'd hide in the hidden crevices of her armor, but a few good brawls with the Heartless had dislodged too many. Her cycle had been irregular when she was in the Realm of Light; here, with the never-ending stress of her body and mind, it is one less thing to worry about. (Secretly, she's thankful for it. She loses enough blood from fighting.) 

When Ventus had still been small and too scared to speak, she'd sing him nursery rhymes and songs; she'd tap the beat on his knobbly knees as he sat on his bed, watch him mouth the words. He sang his way back to conversation, in a sweet voice that would always fill the room. It became their little secret language. And even after he started speaking fluently—and _rapidly_ , to the point where it was sometimes hard to get a word in edgewise—they would trade lines and beats as call-and-responses.

The fight had been a short and brutal one; her responses had been sluggish, her limbs failing to fully thrust forward in favor of guarding her aching middle. She sings the Curaga spell and watches the green magic soak into her blood-soaked arm; there will be new scars to add to her old ones, whispers of raised white flesh.

She hears it, the sharp _thump thump tha-dump._ It startles her out of her healing. There are no signs of Heartless—no sickly sweet smell, no cool whispering wind over her shoulders. Master Keeper is a solid weight in her shaking hand.

_Thump thump tha-dump._

"Little robin found a light," she sings hesitantly. Her voice twists up at the ends, a hesitance she can't afford.

_Thump thump tha-dump._

"Robin kept it for the night."

_Thump thump tha-dump._

Her gut clenches. "Looked too long into the bright."

_Thump thump tha-dump._

Surely her throat hadn't been this dry moments ago. She waits for the final line, but is only met with silence. "Looked too long into the bright," Aqua sings again, and taps the familiar beat. Still no answer.

_Light and Robin lost from sight._

Thump thump tha-dump.  

* * *

She can’t help but remember her fallen Master when she fights with his Keyblade. It’s a common thing, now.

Aqua vividly remembers her inheritance ceremony, back in the days when it had been just her and the Master. It had been a sunlit day in the green-backed mountains that surrounded the castle. It had not been the first time she had seen a Keyblade—that had been days before, when her small town had been burned to the ground by wandering Heartless. She’d been the only survivor because she’d been the closest to Eraqus when he’d touched down to the ground.

She’d seen her father brand the cows on their little farm, to keep anyone from stealing them. She’d expected a similar kind of pain when she’d taken Master Keeper into her tiny hand. But the metal had been merely warm, a comfortable feeling. And the Master had recited the ancient words over her—“ _then through this simple act of taking, its wielder you shall someday be made_ ”—and told her that someday she would have a blade of her own.

“Not this one?” she had asked, having watched it disappear with a twitch of the scarred Master’s hand.

And he had laughed, a very rare sound, and shook his head. “No, I should hope not.”

That laughter is ringing in her ears as she cuts down another balloon Heartless, watches its distorted smiling face fade into the darkness. Lights are still winking in the backs of her eyes from her Shotlock—she'd been perfect, hadn't faltered once, hadn't even taken a hit from her opponent. But even with the flawless execution she still feels strange, off-center. It's the feeling of Master Keeper in her hands; it's knowing she shouldn't have this blade, should be fighting with her own.

Master Keeper doesn't think that. The Keyblade responds effortlessly, almost enthusiastically, to every thrust and spin and slice. It feels warm in her hands but now it feels like a brand. Aqua feels it marking her—as a Master, yes, but also as the one who had let all of this happen. If she'd just found Ven first, if she'd been able to bring Terra home...

But she sees the flash of Eraqus's gray eyes in his blade. In a way, using his Keyblade is like having him here. It's not the real thing, but the weapon is something tangible to hold on to. The weapon is her lifeline. The weapon is her only hope for survival.

* * *

It’s Terra’s voice that calls her name on the steps of Cinderella’s castle. She turns to see him there, as she’d remembered before all  _this_ had happened: his sloped grin, his billowing pants, his tight shirt. Not a body possessed by Xehanort, with white hair and amber eyes. Dark, beautifully brown hair, a little messy and wild. And his eyes—

They’re shadowed, too dark a blue. She’s spent too long fantasizing about Terra’s eyes to not know the exact shape and color of them. She expects him to transform into another Heartless, for something to come up behind her and strike the mortal blow.

(If she’s doomed to die out here, isn’t this the kinder way? Sudden and quick with almost-Terra’s eyes on hers?)

“You’re not real,” she says. Not a declarative statement. Not a question, either. She’s forgotten the name for this taste in her mouth.

He takes another step toward her. And another, and another until he’s standing right in front of her. If she closes her eyes, if she leans forward—

“You need to get out of here.”

She wants to scream, wants to ask “what do you think I’ve been doing?” But she doesn’t. Aqua’s hands are steady as she looks up at his almost-right eyes. There’s a gentle gleam there, he’s looking down at her with an expression that does not match the bleak surroundings and the dark sky and the silencing stone underneath their feet. Not entirely one thing, not pity or sorrow or comforting or longing but a mixture of all those, one that catches her throat.

“I’m trying,” she whispers.

He lifts his hand and brushes his fingers along her jaw and _dear gods_ she doesn't care if this isn't real, if this is a figment of her imagination. The curling of her bleeding toes in her boots is real, and the yearning—that's the word she was looking for—in her mouth is real. It has been real, all this time, and when he lifts his other hand to grab her throat—

It’s a reflex action. He lifts his hand and Master Keeper surges into being, Master Keeper cuts a wide arc across Terra’s broad chest. Terra doesn’t bleed. Terra doesn’t even flinch, just looks into her eyes with a sad smile on his face and disappears. She throws her hand out to him and meets nothing but empty air.

She’d known to resist because his eyes had been wrong. He’d been  _wrong._

Right?

* * *

Is she even sure her name is Aqua?

She’s a mess of scarred limbs and anxiety, a silver-and-blue blur of death for the never-ending flood of Heartless. She doesn’t feel like a person. Hasn’t for a while. People get to enjoy more sensations than killing things. People still have hope for  _when_ , aren't easy to settle for  _if._

People need water. She needs something to drink, and a place to bathe. The sweat smell is starting to be too much, even for her. She still has a sharp rock that she uses to shave and cut her hair—it's the one vanity she allows herself, to keep her sane, keep her feeling like a maybe-person—and in a pinch it makes for a good dagger. She's already fingering for it in the tattered pocket she's made for herself—

"Aqua!"

Any sound, any hint of a trigger summons Master Keeper now. Even before she turns her head, the Keyblade is a hot heat in her hand. The tiny figure in front of her is wringing his white-gloved hands, and his round eyes are wide and uncertain. He is impossibly familiar.

" _Mickey?_ "

"I'm glad I was able to find ya," he squeaks, and there's a smile on his pointed face. "Had to fight some pretty nasty Heartless, but I'm here now." He extends his hand. "It's time to go home."

She stares at him for a long time, silently. Once she must have known what a slow frown, a crinkle of the brow, and a tilted head. Now it just fills her with confusion. She matches it subconsciously. "Home?"

"'Course! There's real trouble up there," he says softly, "an' we need your help. After all…"

"You're the only one who can save us."

Ven's voice explodes in her right ear. She flinches and turns her head and there he is, seemingly solid and real before her very eyes. He shifts his feet, testing their weight, his hands clasped behind his head. There's a happy glint in his eyes. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not," she says softly, and tightens her grip on Master Keeper.

"Only Master left who still wants to fight," Mickey continues, like he hadn't heard Ven. "I mean, I'm close, but Master Yen Sid…"

"Be careful," Terra's voice whispers. She doesn't see him but she _feels_ him, right against her back. She swipes Master Keeper behind her and cuts through nothing. The heaviness disappears. It doesn't soothe her.

"Are you okay?"

She feels feral looking at Mickey. The word for "fear" is an easy one to name, and Mickey is the perfect example of it: eyes wide, curled body, retreated hands. "I'm not gonna hurt ya."

"More Heartless." Terra's voice again. "Close by. Don't let your guard down."

She points Master Keeper right at the King's nose, watches the end spark with electricity. "Leave now."

"But Master—"

" _Leave!_ " she screams, and swipes.

The robed King jumps into the air. That's when the Heartless come to drag her down.

No burst of fire or flash of ice or spark of electricity saves her from this new fate. The pit of darkness is quick sand, and it tightens its grip the harder she struggles. Mickey's golden Keyblade flashes into being and slips through Heartless like they're butter, like it's nothing. She used to fight like that, she thinks, as she sinks deeper. Does she still?

They meet eyes. Mickey throws out his hand just as the darkness claims her neck. "You gotta keep holding on! I'll come back for ya, I promise!"

She doesn't know he will, but she nods. She's pulled under.

It is inky black and the only light comes from her wayfinder—bright blue, piercing. She grabs onto the glass-and-metal trinket and holds it close to her chest, whimpers and prays for the first time in a very, very long time.

It was her first chance at freedom. If she knows anything about this place, it's that it was probably her last.

"Don't be afraid."

"We're here with you."

She doesn't want their voices or their promises, she wants _them_ and the light and the solid weight of their touch. She wants she wants she _wants._

Wanting, in the end, will either destroy her or save her.

* * *

It saves her.

Mickey comes back with a boy she only distantly remembers—Riku, who holds his own Keyblade with the surety of a Master and the technique of the self-taught. They guide her to the light. They guide her to Ven. They guide her to Sora. And Sora guides her into the battle.

She remembers bits and pieces. A dry desert heat. A blinding light. She remembers getting stabbed in the stomach by a Keyblade and still doesn’t know who it belonged to. In the chaos of battle it’s hard to tell who is friend and who is foe. Maybe it was her own.

She remembers, but she doesn’t open her eyes. Light is still a foreign thing to her; the Darkness terrifies her and she still can’t sleep at night, but it’s the devil she knows and right now that’s good enough. So instead she twists her fingers in the soft blankets, tries not to breathe too hard. Tries not to listen too intently to the voices in her head.

“She’s going to be okay, right?”

“Have you met Aqua? She'll be fine. You’ll see.”

What if everything up to that final battle had been a dream? Does she really remember waking Ventus from his long slumber, or scouring the worlds for any sign of Terra, or had those been more wishful fantasies? Had there been a time before she questioned any of her decisions—had there once, a very long time ago, been an Aqua who believed recklessly in the inevitable? She isn’t sure. It is only one of many things she hasn’t reclaimed from the Realm of Darkness, and Xehanort.

"Did she just twitch her eye?"

"Aqua? Can you hear us?"

She's too scared to speak. Too afraid to open her eyes. Too afraid to feel. But she does feel it, the warm and heavy weight in her hand. Not Master Keeper, which she has held in her hands for more than ten years. Something rough that gives when she squeezes back.

It's that surprise contact that awakens her. The room is warm and golden, lit by candles; someone's turned her bed to face the window, where the sun is setting in an explosion of orange and purple and red. It's an easy transition for her eyes to make, and she gasps.

"Pretty, isn't it," someone says—it sounds like Ven but there's no way—and then there is a hand against her shoulder. The contact is unexpected and she's quick to turn her head; just that slight movement is enough to agitate her abdomen.

The thing that isn't Master Keeper tightens its grip on her hand, and something firm and gentle brushes against her thumb. On her other side someone says, "Careful. You're not done healing," and it sounds so much like Terra that she bites her lip.

If she looks from the corners of her eyes she can see a wild mess of blond hair, a lazy smile. Bright blue eyes, just the color and shape she remembers, lit by a sadness that she has never seen on him but that feels _right_ , feels so much like the heaviness in hers. That's not the part that convinces her. She looks right into Terra's eyes and squeezes her hand—looks down to see the thing she's squeezing is _his_ hand, so solid and warm in her grasp. He squeezes back. "You're safe."

The bed dips at her other side. Ven finds a home between the edge of the mattress and her shoulder, propping his head up so that it hangs over hers. His lip has been split wide open, she can tell, even though the wound is clean of blood. "You scared us."

"You're here," she whimpers, and holds on tight to both of them. She teases ends of their hair between her fingertips, pulls them close. They knock heads with a resounding _thunk!_ and it's a beautiful, solid sound that echoes through her bones. She laughs despite the pain. They laugh despite theirs.

They probably have beds of their own to heal in. She doesn't let them go, keeps her hands firmly tucked in theirs. Terra and Ven sleep on each side, solid heavy weights that do not fade in the darkness of the night or the sweet whisper of dawn.

They are here, and they are real, and that simple truth is enough to quiet her mind, for now.


End file.
